Abyss
by LadyNRA
Summary: Artie follows MacPherson and is trapped within the umbilicus. An explosion claims his life. What happens next...a story with 2 alternate endings. SPOILERS to the season finale.
1. Prologue

**Title**: Abyss

**Author:** LadyNRA

**Rating**: PG 13 to start, R for some graphic scenes later on

**Spoilers**: Post "MacPherson" (Season Finale)

**Characters**: Myka and Pete to start with

**Genre**: Drama/Angst and some Hurt/Comfort

**Disclaimer**: The producers and Syfy may own it but I'm taking the time to play with the characters for a little while.

**Summary**: Artie is killed in a explosion after being trapped in the umbilicus. MacPherson takes off, leaving Pete and Myka to pick up the pieces.

**Author's Note: **I'm not even sure how to explain this story structure since it's a bit different than what I've done in the past. Let's just say that after the season finale where Artie is killed, there were many discussions on the forums theorizing 'if' and 'how' he survived. The prevailing theory by fans is that he used an artifact called "The Phoenix", which was shown in the finale, to save his life. Note that the Phoenix always takes lives after saving the life of the user. This is my response to what could have happened…

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**Prologue:**

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A massive explosion rocked the platform, sending artifacts careening off shelves. Any loose item on desktops rocked or toppled to the floor. The cacophonous booming of the umbilicus linking warehouse to outside world began dropping thirty feet down to the warehouse floor leaving billowing flames and black roiling smoke in its wake.

Myka Bering screamed. Not a cry of terror but one of horror and pain and unbearable loss. She knew what went on in that tunnel, knew who was still in it. She had, after all, read the stupid manual and knew how it all worked. The external access doors had foot thick plating lower into place. The door on her side had done much the same thing, effecting sealing off the platform. There's been no escape for the man trapped inside. She was certain of it, and it tore her heart.

She crumpled briefly against the door, fighting back tears. Sobs threatened to pour from her throat, already raw from screaming Artie's name. Pete briefly pulled her toward him, taking her into a powerful embrace which nonetheless failed to comfort. He released her within seconds and began to fight the door, struggling to get it open. When it finally yielded to his assault, they were both greeted by tongues of fire curling in on them from the remnant of the umbilicus wall. Where it was still attached to the brickwork of the office, thick slag continued to bubble from the intense heat, dripping down into the depths.

Dumfounded and dazed, both Warehouse 13 agents glanced down into the semi-darkness. Smoldering debris lay thick and heavy, casting a crazy and incomprehensible motif of shadows and pseudo sunlight.

"Do you see…?" Myka whispered, tears already falling unheeded and unrestrained.

Leaning over as far as he dared, Pete Lattimer tried to force his eyes to function like x-ray machines, to pierce the darkness and rubble below. To look for signs of life even though he knew there wasn't the proverbial snowball's chance in Hell that anyone could survive such a calamitous event.

When he finally answered, his voice was husky with grief. "No. Nothing."

They looked solemnly at each other and then peered down again hoping for signs of movement or to hear a voice calling for help. It was a vain hope and they knew it but searched for it anyway, clearly still experiencing some denial.

Myka struggled to suppress another choked sob. She knew the procedures. Knew what went on in that umbilicus. Could envision, with frightening clarity, the man trapped inside, hearing the count down and knowing there was no escape. Did he panic? She wondered for all of a second. But a part of her already knew the answer to that. He would have faced it with either calm acceptance or fatalism but either way there would have been no screaming or cowering.

For her, this was yet one more loss in a string of painful losses and it was almost too great to bear. As a secret service agent, she was as strong as they came but at that moment she was weaker than any newborn. She hadn't just lost a coworker. She'd lost a friend, someone who she cared deeply about, the father figure whose company she could enjoy. The source of sage counsel when she needed it. The reliable one now that he'd learned to be a bit more open with them both. A man crusty on the outside to cover the pain of many losses inside. Together they'd grown to understand each other. Finally. And now he was gone.

"Artie," she moaned softly. She turned to her partner. "Oh Pete, I can't believe this." Her voice gained strength, the driven agent within her already striving to bring order to the chaos swirling around her. "We need to go down there. Find a way out of here."

"There's an exit, supposedly." Pete continued to look down as if by the force of his gaze he could resurrect the dead. "See, I do listen now and then."

When she didn't respond, he gripped her shoulders and turned her away from the yawning chasm below them. "Sounds like a good idea, yeah?"

"The man with the plan," she agreed fisting his shoulder lightly. Normally she would have grinned at him but there was no smile left in her. Somehow, she doubted there would be for a very long time.

It took her several moments to get her legs moving properly. They felt rubbery and the knees threatened to buckle with every step. Taking in an achingly deep breath, she got her body under control, straightened her bowed spine, and walked away from the disaster.

Both Pete and Myka had to step around Artie's collection of statues, antique swords and helms which had previously perched on shelves. Few things were broken but neither of agent had the heart to restore order. In reality, doing so would have been pointless. There would be time for that later. It would be the first step in the healing process. The second would be hunting down the man who'd done this to Artie. Myka knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they would track that animal to the ends of the earth if necessary. She also knew that which ever of them caught up to MacPherson first wouldn't hesitate to take him out…permanently…for what he'd just done. No Bronze Sector for him. No room for second chances. No doubt that he'd be out of their way permanently.

She honestly didn't know if Pete felt the same way but when she finally looked deep into his dark and haunted eyes, it was obvious that there were of one accord on this. Warehouse and Mrs. Frederic be damned. MacPherson was about to become the slug to their saltshaker. The roach to their can of Raid. Catching up to him would be difficult with Claudia banished from the Warehouse, suspected of stealing artifacts while under MacPherson's mind control. Myka suspected she'd been responsible for setting their arch nemesis free of his bronze tomb. That meant her help in rebooting computers wouldn't be forthcoming. Artie could have done it, she started to think, and her mind was instantly slashed through with icy knives as she realized that'd never happen now.

As more pain coursed through her, she knew they were truly on their own until help arrived.

Together, the pair went to the open deck of the platform and headed for the stairs that would take them down to the main floor.


	2. Chapter 1

**Title**: Abyss

**Author:** LadyNRA

**Rating**: PG 13 to start, R for some graphic scenes later on

**Spoilers**: Post "MacPherson" (Season Finale)

**Characters**: Myka and Pete to start with

**Genre**: Drama/Angst and some Hurt/Comfort

**Disclaimer**: The producers and Syfy may own it but I'm taking the time to play with the characters for a little while.

**Summary**: Artie is killed in a explosion after being trapped in the umbilicus. MacPherson takes off, leaving Pete and Myka to pick up the pieces.

**Author's Note: **As previously stated this is a story showing what happens just after the explosion in the umbilicus and two possible outcomes to the season finale. This is Alternate Ending 1 and starts immediately after the prologue. Alternate Ending 2 will follow in the next chapter. Also, I want to give a HUGE thank you to Milena D for encouraging me with this and for Beta-Reading it for me. Much appreciated.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooo

**Chapter 1: One Possibility**

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"Pete, how long do you think it'll be before Leena or Mrs. Frederic realizes there has been an explosion?"

Shrugging weakly, Pete responded. "I don't know. Does the Bed and Breakfast even have a warning system to alert Leena if something goes wrong here?"

"I'd assume so. She and Mrs. Frederic have an uncanny ability to know when there are problems, don't you think?"

"Not with the Claudia Incident," he said, his voice taking on a lighter tone as he remembered what they done through. "We were on our own then."

"True, but Leena wasn't at the B&B at the time, and Mrs. Frederic was meeting with…" Her voice dropped off.

"Artie," Pete finished it with a rush of breath though it clearly hurt him just as much to say it.

To reassure her, he added, "Look, they'll be here. I don't know how they'll know or when it'll happen, but it will. And we can wait it out or ease on down the isle and find that exit. I'll leave it up to you."

At the bottom of the stairs, she leaned against one of the platform's steel support struts. Stay or go. Go or stay. Neither would make her feel better but which would lessen the pain? Staying meant they could keep an eye on things in the warehouse until their rescuers showed up. Going meant they wouldn't fall prey to anything MacPherson might have concocted in the course of his flight. If Claudia was aiding him, she could have booby trapped dozens of places down here.

And there were the outer wall shields to contend with.

As if reading her mind, Pete said, "So what's the manual say? Will the shields block our way out?"

"There's manual override capability but I can't think straight. I'm not even sure where it is at the moment. Art—" She started to say his name and choked. "He showed me once but now the walls all look alike. No more landmarks. I vaguely remember…"

She wiped sweaty, dirt streaked palms on her slacks, leaving graying smudges on them. "…doesn't matter, MacPherson hacked the computers. He probably changed the codes. We'd need Claudia to fix the problem and she's--" She hesitated to state the obvious. Claudia may have inadvertently been a mole under MacPherson's control and had been banished from Warehouse access for a while.

"—not around to help us," he concluded for her, starting to walk away. Suddenly, he was aware she wasn't with him and he turned to observe her staring at the heap of smoldering wreckage.

Gently, he placed a broad strong hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Want to go and see if we can find him. At least get him out of that." He didn't say what he was really thinking. That if they found the corpse, it probably wouldn't be whole. Finding bits and pieces of their boss and friend would be unbearable…for both of them. But deep down he knew he had to try. To do anything else felt like the ultimate form of disrespect. "Come on. I can't stand leaving him in there like that."

Raggedly gasping, Myka pushed off from the strut and turned toward the smoking heap nearby. She walked up and down the length of it, some one hundred feet of crumbled concrete, twisted rebar, and melted plastic. It looked horrific and smelled worse. The pungent odor of the umbilicus shell permeated her nostrils, her throat, her lungs. She stifled a cough but the irritation won. Her own ears echoed with the sound of her coughing, once, then again, and finally a third time. And then she froze in her tracks. Through the haze of pain and anger, her brain registered something. She'd only coughed twice.

She turned to glance back at Pete who was walking the other side of the downed structure. He seemed less effected.

"Pete, did…did you cough just now?" she asked in a strained voice.

"Me? No, why?"

"Did you hear it?"

This time he looked directly at her. "What? You coughing? Yeah, so?" He kicked at some rubble and it tumbled onto the floor with a loud thwack. "The fumes from this stuff are enough to choke someone."

"Oh, no doubt, but I only coughed twice and yet I heard three of them."

That got Pete's attention. "You sure?"

"Absolutely!"

In a frantic rush, Pete ran to the nearest support columns and located a broom, one of many that were scattered around for quick clean ups. He raced back and started to push and prod the debris into fresh rows, hoping to find something out of the ordinary.

Myka willed her eyes to pierce the gloom, dust and still smoking piles. Nothing but detritus from the collapsed umbilicus was uncovered. Pete's broom eventually worked its way to the middle of the now destroyed structure and hit something soft, something that yielded to his poking.

Muscles bunching, back straining, Pete cleared some heavy remnants of the structure away, revealing a charcoal gray and brown heap. There was no movement from the prostrate form, but it was obviously a person and equally obvious, the short, stocky form of a man.

Joining Pete in clearing away the debris, Myka finally was able to kneel beside the body. A quick assessment showed charcoal colored skin, an obviously malformed and undoubtedly broken right ankle and some blood seeping from a head wound.

Trembling hands sought the side of his neck just below his ear. She wanted to cry anew when she found nothing, no fluttering, no rhythmic pulsing, no sign of life. She let her hand drop slightly, trying again. And found it, a weak but steady throb beneath her fingertips.

"Artie?" she called, barely whispering the name. No response. "Artie!" she tried again, with more force, reaching out to grip his shoulder. She was amazed at the soft feel of his sweater. No burn marks on the material or on his skin. Of course, there was still no way to know if he had internal injuries but from a visual perspective, he seemed whole.

Hopping the rubble barricade, Pete settled down next to her. He smiled hugely knowing that she wouldn't be calling Artie's name if he was beyond hearing it.

"Let's get him onto his back…carefully." He placed both heads beside Artie's head and neck to prevent any further neck injuries and very slowly rolled him onto his back. The motion elicited a moan of pain. Gradually, his eyes opened, unfocused, dazed.

Myka did a fast assessment for neck injuries. Artie tried to push her hands away but his muscles weren't cooperating. She persisted, simply avoiding his ineffectual attempts to stop her. Once he stopped resisting her ministrations and she was sure he had no head injuries, Myka pulled off her jacket, balled it up, and fashioned a pillow for him.

Gradually, Artie became more aware of his surroundings.

"Hey man, welcome back to the world of the living," Pete said with a smile, affectionately tapping Artie's shoulder.

"N—never…left," came the hoarse, wheezing reply. He tried to move, but four strong hands held him down.

"Not so fast there, pardner," Pete said affecting a western drawl. "You just got bucked off one big freakin' horse."

Surprisingly, Artie found the strength to crack a very tiny grin. "Nasty…critter…stomped all over…me," he commented, still sounding like someone had just run sandpaper through his throat. "Fire the…rodeo clown…not doing his job!" He made another abortive attempt to sit up. "Ow!" he yelled, much stronger and clearer than before. He glanced down at his injured leg which was still flopping off to the side in an unnatural way.

"Yeah, that ankle is not taking you anywhere just yet. Why don't you just rest for a minute."

"Forget that, help me sit up." He was sounding better now, more determined, and definitely more alert.

"Not wise, bro."

Turning to Myka, he said, "I need water. You have no idea how thirsty I am. Oh, and something to fashion a splint." He glanced around for something. Clearly not finding it, he soon gave up.

"You got it!" she said with huge, relieved grin. She started to jog toward the platform and stopped short. Whirling quickly she returned and stared him straight in the eye. "Before I do that, you have to tell me one thing."

"How did I survive? How come I wasn't crispy crittered?" he asked, deducing her question before it was asked. He struggled to sit up in spite of Pete's warning. Knowing their was no stopping him, Pete gave him a helping hand by clasping Artie's upper arm and steadying him

"Yeah, that," Pete chimed in as he got his boss upright and leaning against a cooled piece of rubble beside them. He settled down onto the floor as if expecting a long, juicy story. Myka simply kneeled, her eyes wide and curious.

"You had the Phoenix," he guessed before Artie could open his mouth.

Artie shook his head and started to speak, but Myka cut him off. "You said the Phoenix protects those who touch it. Does that mean any touch, even previously?"

"Well, that's true. The effects last a bit but the protection isn't long term. Maybe several minutes at most."

"Damn! Good thing I didn't bet my life on it."

"Good thing I didn't bet _mine_," Artie said with a trace of macabre humor.

Myka found herself trying to fight back tears. "Don't make jokes about it. We thought you were dead."

Turning red rimmed eyes on her, Artie stretched out a comforting hand, clasping her wrist in a warm grip. "Funny thing about Mrs. Frederic," he said in a conversational tone, "Carol was right about her, you know. She did like to pick agents for their arrogance. Or self-confidence, really would be a better term. It's why we adapt to problems so well. No panicking. Well, little panicking at any rate." He exhaled loudly. "Anyway, that's not the main motive for her selection. Intellect is one thing she looks for. I'm sure that's no surprise." He caught both of their eyes as they looked down on him. "But she also prizes agents with unique survival instincts, the ones who get vibes as you do, Pete, or similar unexplained urgings…"

"Like you get?" Pete asked, nodding to himself as if he'd always suspected as much.

"Precisely. My spidey sense was tingling after putting James through the bronzing process. That was odd in itself. So before going back to reshelving items, I made a side trip to India 28 Yamuna."

Pete's eyes rolled up into his head as he mentally sought the section in his memory but couldn't quite place what was in there. Some of the older items were cataloged in the sectors named for the country of origin, meaning that Artie had paid a visit to the area housing artifacts from ancient India but the other reference he didn't recognize.

At that moment, Artie's hands dropped to his button down shirt and lifted. Pete drew back in shock. His first instinct was thinking that Artie had his skin burned uniformly charcoal gray. The hairs at the nape of his neck rose at the appearance of the leathery skin, bumpy and sprouting coarse, spiny hairs. He leaned in, as did Myka. Hesitantly, she placed a hand on that exposed spot. Fur, it was sparse fur, she realized.

Disregarding the appropriateness of her action, she quickly unbuttoned the rest of his shirt to reveal a shirt of supple gray leather stretching from collarbone to groin. Because Artie always wore his shirts untucked, a casual observer would never have seen such an unusual undergarment.

Noting the question written clearly on her face, he explained, "This is referred to as the Babr-e Bayan. In ancient times, there was a fearless warrior named Rostam. There were lots of accounts about him, ranging from ancient Persia to India." Artie winced and shifted. He looked around as if confused. "Glasses, where are my glasses?"

Rising quickly, Myka located them nearby. Miraculously they hadn't broken. Artie unceremoniously shoved them onto his face and sighed in relief. "Now, where was I? Oh right, Rostam. To make a long story short, there was supposedly a sea serpent or dragon if you will, that lived in Indian waters. It would rise out of the ocean one day a week and Rostam supposedly slew the beast and made a garment of the skin. This garment, also referred to as a coat though clearly it isn't, was said to be fire-proof, water-proof, and weapon-proof. And the whole person was protected just by wearing it."

He paused to lick dry lips and spit out the grit pulled into his mouth. "Uck! Myka would you please get me some water before I die of thirst?"

"Wouldn't help," Pete said.

"Why?"

"Coat's water-proof too, remember?"

"Oh, ha, ha! You really stretched for that one." He stared pointedly at the woman before him. "Myka ignore him. I see he has no sympathy for my suffering." At that point, he faked a pathetic cough, which nonetheless spurred Myka to her feet and dashing toward the office platform.

When she returned, it was with a couple of cold Deer Park water bottles, and what looked like two pieces of his favorite antique desk chair.

"My chair," he cried upon seeing the wood slats.

"Sorry, Artie, it had a shelf unit fall over onto it so it was damaged anyway. I figured we could use it for splints." She held up with some thin, resilient lengths of rope.

Artie's head twitched at the thought of his beloved chair in ruins and parts of it about to be strapped to his leg. And then he thought of the general destruction caused to the office and umbilicus areas. His anger grew to rage as remembered how James MacPherson had not only tried to kill him, but his agents as well. "MacPherson is going to pay for all of this, I swear it." Masking his fury, he gave an angry twist to the cap of the bottle and took a long, noisy drink. The action deflected some of his yearning for immediate revenge.

Myka caught the look on his face. "Let's deal with him later. First things first. I still want to know how come you weren't killed. The coat protected you from the flames, somehow. I get it. And you also somehow mysteriously, miraculously survived the fall. Thirty feet, Artie."

Taking another swallow of cool liquid, Artie responded, "Miraculous, perhaps. Mysterious, not really. James didn't count on me thinking about the Babr-e Bayan, which, incidentally, is probably a place name rather than the item itself by the way," he stopped short as if suddenly aware he was going into teacher mode at an inappropriate moment. For a few seconds, he stroked the silvered hairs under his lip. "Anyway, James assumed he'd kill me, trap you down here, and be done with it. He made off with the crystalline diamond necklace, and I'm thinking that may have been what he wanted all along."

"He went to amazing lengths to get it. What a crazy scheme."

"And it worked, didn't it," snapped Artie. "Sorry, sorry. Question is, why is he seeking access to everything? We've already determined that making money off them was never his goal primary goal."

Myka shrugged, "Maybe he wants what every megalomaniac wants…to rule the world."

"He's crazy but not _that_ crazy. No, there's something more and we're not seeing it." He shifted again as the cold hard floor took its toll on his tail bone. The movement elicited a groan as the broken bones in his ankle or lower leg sent rivers of molten lava rushing past his knee and into his thigh. "God, that hurts! Time to splint it, because there's still so much to be done and we must get to it."

As Myka set about constructing a crude splint, she distracted him by pushing for more information. "Back to the explosion, Artie. We've established the coat saved your life there but what about the fall. Full disclosure, remember." She finished the sentence with a half smile as if to remind him of past disputes but not to inflict emotional wounds by doing so.

"Yes, well, there's an amulet, over in Greece 14 Olympus, believed to grant an ability to fly like the wind, like Hermes, messenger of the Gods, simply by being in contact with it."

"Like the Phoenix," Pete commented, watching Myka carefully wrap the ankle.

"More or less, except that there are no dire repercussions for its use. Owww!" Artie's cry ripped out of an already sore throat, but after that he stoically bore Myka's ministrations.

"Sorry," mouthed Myka, and tied some knots to hold the splint in place. She checked the apparatus to make sure it wasn't cutting off circulation. Aloud, she said pointedly, "There's a huge difference between flying and falling, Artie. And judging from where you landed, flying wasn't what resulted."

"Too true. Actually, the amulet didn't grant true flight, only something resembling floating. One's feet didn't touch the ground. It operated like something akin to a hover-craft. Repulsion forces were created between user and the ground. Thereby creating the illusion of…" his voice trailed off as if he were thinking of something else.

"Flying." Pete supplied rhetorically.

"Precisely."

Nielsen craned his neck toward the ceiling to where the covered entranceway used to be. "I was concerned that James might be able to escape after I learned of the mole in our midst." Then he shrugged. "I hoped I'd be wrong, but…," again the voice faded away. Reorienting himself, he added, "As soon as I suspected he was free, I realized he'd try to kill me. There were only a few places he could trap me. And I knew if he blew the umbilicus while I was inside, I'd need to make a safe landing. So I retrieved the second artifact before confronting him."

He reached into his right sweater pocket and pulled out a small carved figure with tiny wings on the feet. "It worked. More or less, but I didn't fall feet first...exactly." He snorted derisively. "If you want the truth, it was more of a belly flop. Somehow I managed to get my feet under me at the last second, felt the artifact do its thing, and then I bounced off something like it was trampoline."

An odd far away expression crept across his round face. "On the other hand, Hermes was reputed to be a trickster so perhaps its failure to function properly wasn't entirely my fault. In either case, I got lucky and ended up as you found me."

"Fortunately, the coat also protected you from additional burns and falling debris."

Artie nodded in agreement. "Fortunately." He reached up to Pete. "Help me up. I can't sit here all day, broken leg or not. We've got to concentrate on contacting Mrs. Frederic but we need to get out in order to do that."

Pete looked up at the gaping hole in the wall above them. "Ladders?"

"None big enough."

"If we moved one of the shelving units over—"

"Too heavy."

"We remove the artifacts from it and—"

"Still too heavy. And most of the units around here are bolted down to prevent them from being moved." Artie stood balanced on one foot, using a hand on Myka's shoulder to provide additional support. "Get me that pike over there. It'll make a decent staff for now."

Pete retrieved the ancient item and gave it over, all the while wondering if it had any special abilities or characteristics that he wanted to avoid if at all possible. Artie handled it like it was totally benign, resting on it instead of on Myka.

Artie hobbled a few paces in the direction of the platform stairs. He gazed up into the damaged portal. "Blast door is still down."

"We can get it open, right?" queried Pete hopefully.

"Not likely. Wiring running the length of the umbilicus is non-existent now, obviously. It can be opened from the outside, provided the door isn't jammed from the explosion."

"Okay, I get it, there may be no way out through that unless the cavalry comes. So now what? Make phone calls?"

"Wiring…" Artie turned his palms up, waggling his fingers like something going up in smoke. "Boom!"

"Damn!" muttered Pete.

"Indeed," replied Artie.

Pete pulled Artie's arm up around his shoulder, preparing to access the platform area. "Well, at least I know we won't die from lack of oxygen right away." He looked out toward the high distant ceiling.

"Not a concern. There is a passive ventilation system not reliant on mechanical devices."

"Comforting," Pete told him flatly.

Myka stood assessing the stairway and thinking. "I think Pete's worried about starvation or dehydration. Any chance we can avoid those two conditions?"

"Yeah, where's the beef?" Pete replied, pulling out a childhood memory.

Artie pointed toward an unmarked door on the opposite side of the area they were in. "Got tons of it in there. Mostly MRE's but they last a very long time, and are both nutritious and reasonably edible if you aren't picky. Barrels of purified water too. This structure is set up to house quite a few people for months if necessary. Years, if the number of occupants is low."

Turning to her boss, Myka said, "I'm going up there to see if any of the phones or computers still work." As Artie opened his mouth, she thrust both palms at him. "I know, I know. Boom. But I want to check the overall damage anyway. And get my bag. I still have my cell phone in it and if we can get out, it might come in handy."

"Fair enough," replied Artie, blowing a quick audible breath through his nose. If Myka wanted to double check everything, he reasoned, let her. It wasn't much different than lights going out in a power failure and having the occupants flipping light switches 'just to see' what would happen despite the problem being totally obvious.

While Myka was upstairs, Pete maneuvered Artie to the steps, and helped the older man sit down on them. "Please tell me there's a way to get the shields down without Claudia's help."

"There's a way to get the shields down without Claudia's help."

"Funny, okay, ya got me. No, really, can we reprogram the codes to use the exits." He pointed at the 'war zone'. And don't dis me over not reading the manual. I promised I would and I meant it…_after_ we get out."

Pointing toward the far right side of the vast structure, Artie stated, "Over that way are the access panels for the manual overrides. But there is an additional obstacle thanks to James activating the security shields. Those shields cover the exits. Normally, said barriers protect us from outside attempts to get in here. We usually don't care if they are covered in the event of an attempted break-in because it's expected that we will stay to protect the warehouse. So technically, we need to get the shields down and then reprogram the codes for egress. I might be able to use one of Claudia's computing stations to accomplish our objective." He held up crossed fingers to indicate how confident he felt about his abilities to do so.

"Well, okay, that sounds like a plan." Pete responded hopefully.

Once Myka reached the floor level of the Warehouse, she was wearing a very grim expression. Her eyebrows were virtually kissing. Not a good sign, Pete decided as he watched her.

"All I can confirm is that nothing works but we already knew that. The exception is your computer Artie. No internet of course, but the basic computing functions are still there. So I took the liberty of leaving a note for Mrs. Frederic just in case she figured out how to get in and we were…elsewhere."

She brandished her cell phone. "I'm going back to retrieve my coat and help you get those shields down."

Pete glared at her. _Of course, she'd know how to do that_, he thought in mild frustration. She'd read the roughly one-thousand pages of the manual and memorized it as thoroughly as teen-aged boys would devour an x-rated novel.

Together, both younger agents assisted Artie to his one uninjured leg, and like two friends in a three legged race, he and Pete slowly made their way toward the computing station nearest the far wall with Myka trailing in their wake.


	3. Chapter 2

**Title**: Abyss

**Author:** LadyNRA

**Rating**: R for some graphic scenes

**Spoilers**: Post "MacPherson" (Season Finale)

**Characters**: Myka and Pete to start with

**Genre**: Drama/Angst and some Hurt/Comfort

**Disclaimer**: The producers and Syfy may own it but I'm taking the time to play with the characters for a little while.

**Summary**: Artie is killed in a explosion after being trapped in the umbilicus. MacPherson takes off, leaving Pete and Myka to pick up the pieces.

**Author's Note: **This one is going to be very graphic in spots so if you are squeamish you might want to avoid it. As much I would like to have had you read it, I wouldn't want you upset by the content. As previously stated this is a story showing what happens just after the explosion in the umbilicus and two possible outcomes to the season finale. This is Alternate Ending 2 and starts, more or less after the prologue. Also, I want to give a HUGE thank you to Milena D for encouraging me with this and for Beta-Reading it for me. Much appreciated.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

**Chapter 2: There Are Always Alternatives**

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Gently, he placed a broad strong hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Want to go and see if we can find him. At least get him out of that." He didn't say what he was really thinking. That if they found the corpse, it probably wouldn't be whole. Finding bits and pieces of their boss and friend would be unbearable…for both of them. But deep down he knew he had to try. To do anything else felt like the ultimate form of disrespect. "Come on. I can't stand leaving him in there like that."

Raggedly gasping, Myka pushed off from the strut and turned toward the smoking heap nearby. She walked up and down the length of it, some one hundred feet of crumbled concrete, twisted rebar, and melted plastic. It looked horrific and smelled worse. The pungent odor of the umbilicus shell permeated her nostrils, her throat, spearing deep into her lungs. She stifled a cough but the irritation won. Her own ears echoed with the sound of her coughing, once, then again, and finally a third time.

Steam swirled around her as she leaned over, checking for anything beyond debris. She walked slowly up the edge of rubble and then back along it again.

The Warehouse wasn't happy at the damage to its structure. Static charges were arching from one shelving unit to another, all along its length. Various crackles and popping noises reverberated clear up to the front of the building. Chirps, whistles, hums, and the odd clunking noise or two accompanied them on their search. She could almost hear the nearest artifacts moaning from the insult to their resting place. She shook her head again to clear the mental imagery of that. Her skin crawled. Her mind didn't like the feeling that something uncontrollable was about to be loosed upon them despite the continued functioning of the Neutralizer pumping station implying the contrary.

Then she heard something moan again, deep and guttural and not…quite…human. Had it not come from amidst the closest pile of debris, she would have been backing away in terror. Instead, she dove forward and started hurling off chucks of metal, concrete and plastic. Pete, seeing her working feverishly, quickly joined her. In no time at all, they uncovered a form, man shaped, still wearing a few odd patches of cloth. The rest of the figure was blackened, bits of charred skin flaking or peeling back from exposed and inflamed muscle. Those areas not covered in cracked leathery skin were blistered. Raw oozing wounds seeped small rivulets of fluid as did some of the burst blisters.

Bone, starkly white against the charring, shown through in several places, especially around the appendages and the chin. The hair that would have topped the man's head was singed off and the scalp was as burned as the rest of him.

Both femurs poked through the skin, jagged and edged with blood. She noted other odd bends where straight bones should be.

Myka wanted to scream. She knew this wreckage of a man could be only one person and her mind refused to process it. If this was Artie, and she knew it was, he was dead man. Even if he yet lived, he wouldn't be long for this world. There was no recovery from injuries like this.

Nevertheless, she dropped down to his side, looking for anything…anything at all…to imply this figure wasn't a corpse. Her skin skittered over her muscles, wanting to rip free and go running down the isles toward safety. She drew several deep breaths to keep from gagging. The smell of burned bodies was surely nothing new to her, but somehow this was worse.

Pete's hands steadied Myka, keeping her from collapsing over the body. He couldn't bring himself to speak. Though he remained silent, he was torn up inside over the sight of what used to be someone he deeply admired and genuinely liked.

Through tear-blurred eyes, she caught sight of something impossible. A tiny bubble of fluid grew at the end of one blackened nostril, popped, and another formed to replace it. Leaning closer, she placed a trembling hand on the hot wet skin, hoping to feel movement yet dreading it at the same time. To her horror, she felt his chest rise slightly, then slowly sink down.

"Oh Artie," she whispered. "You shouldn't have followed him. You should have waited for us."

An eerie moan issued from the body laying there before them. Sightless eyes opened but remained fixed on some point above them. His body shivered as though chilled.

"God, Pete, we've got to get him some help!"

"What help, Myka?"

She pushed him in anger. "Something, anything. Find a way out. Get an ambulance."

Pete clutched her by both arms, pinning them to her side. He shook her briefly to assert control, then wrapped her in his arms, laying his cheek on the top of her soft wavy hair. "Myka, there's nothing we can do for him. Even if we got a call out for an ambulance, he'd never make it to the hospital alive. I know it, and you know it too."

Sniffling loudly, and wiping tears out of her eyes with the back of one dusty hand, she turned agonized eyes on him. And slowly she nodded. "That may be true but I'm going to at least make him comfortable.

She took her coat and laid it over the torso and chest. If memory served, raising the head could possibly hasten his demise so she left him in the position she found him in.

"Artie, I'm so sorry." She wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for but knew it had to be said anyway. "We shouldn't have let you face MacPherson alone."

"Feez," a voice straight from the crypt issued from ruined lips.

"What?" Myka and Pete said in unison, glancing at each other and back at Artie.

"Feez," the voice said again. Corneas, grayed by heat scarring, turned in their direction.

"I don't understand. What feez, what is feez?" Her voice was taking on a hysterical note but she didn't care. He was trying to communicate with her with his last and probably dieing breaths and she wasn't getting it. Once more she looked at Pete for help but got nothing but a blank stare.

"Artie, I don't understand. Fleas? Freeze? Do you mean, Mac_Phers_on?"

That earned nothing more than a grunt and a strangled moan of pain.

Growing frantic, Myka stood up and paced frenetically before her boss and her partner. _What was he trying to say_, she screamed at herself. _Think_. He couldn't have meant MacPherson, or at least she didn't think so because that demon was already outside and on his way to wherever he could best stir up trouble.

"Feez, Feez. Feez, what the hell does that mean, Artie?" she shouted knowing she wouldn't get an answer. Her mind wasn't cooperating. It was alternately numb and turbulent. For some odd reason, this was affecting her worse than when her parents had been threatened, perhaps because Artie was perhaps moments from death, and there was nothing in the whole wide world capable of bringing him back. "Probably nothing in this damn warehouse either", she said aloud.

"Meaning what?" Pete inquired, not privy to her train of thought. "You think he means something in the warehouse."

His words slapped some sense into her. Of course. Something in the warehouse. She wracked her brain for items she had read about or seen in passing. Items that had "Feez" in them.

"Feez, fees…" and then she had it. Rubbing balled fists into her eyes, she whirled around to face Pete. "Fleece, Pete! He's saying Fleece!"

"As in 'golden'?"

"Exactly, and you know where it is. You commented on it looking so fake, remember?" Grabbing him by the sleeves, she propelled him in the general direction of the Warehouse interior. "Get it, now! And hurry!"

Pete didn't need to be told twice. He bolted down the main isle, running at breakneck speeds until his chest ached, his legs burned, and his heart threatened to rip loose and pop out of his mouth. And still he turned up the speed. Dashing around a corner, sliding as if on ice as he entered the turn, he found the item he was searching for. Climbing up on a shelf, he jerked it down from its stand. The thing was truly golden, as in 14kt color, and unbelievably heavy. The pelt was supple and creamy soft, folding in on itself as he lifted. And it was far larger than he thought it should be. The ram's head on one end, curved horns still attached, hung over his arm and he struggled to get down without dropping it.

After a few seconds, he was able to hold it securely and regain his footing on terra firma. Instantly, he was racing headlong back to Myka, praying the whole time that Artie would hang on until he got back. He wasn't sure how the thing worked but knowing Myka, she certainly would.

Hovering over Artie's prostrate, charred and shivering form was gut wrenching and heart rending. Like Pete, she was sending up prayers to any deity who would listen, begging for mercy on his behalf. She knew Pete was right. Aside from the Fleece, there was no hope for this man. No ambulance, no doctor would be able to help him. She rocked herself, needing desperately to move, even if only to flail her arms in impotent fury at MacPherson, curse his evil soul. Her heart, however, was nailed to the ground at her boss's side and she wasn't going to leave him until Pete returned.

"Come on, Pete!" she pled through clenched teeth as she watched the rise and fall of Artie's chest growing slower and slower. Her voice echoed slightly but she didn't notice.

"Almost there," Pete called back. He rushed up to her twenty seconds later, sweating and gasping for breath. He unceremoniously dumped the fleece into her waiting arms and doubled over, still panting heavily. But he straightened up immediately when he heard her shake out the fleece by Artie's feet. Slowly, and as gently as she could manage, she pulled it upward toward his head until nothing of him showed. The head of the ram, curled great horns resting on the ground, covered Nielsen's face.

"He going to be able to breath under that?" Pete asked, not hiding his concern.

Glancing hurriedly around, Myka picked up a small chunk of scored concrete and propped on end of the ram's skull against it so that some air flow would get underneath. And then they waited. And waited some more.

"How long is this gonna take?" asked Pete for at least the tenth time, checking his watch. "The book implies it healed pretty quickly. So why is it taking so long?"

"I have no idea," snapped Myka, sounding as frustrated as Pete felt. Truth was, they weren't even sure Artie was still alive under there. They were too afraid to check in case it upset whatever process was taking place underneath the golden covering. "For all I know it could take days. We both know stories don't always tell the truth. It's safe to say it heals or it wouldn't be here. Other than that, nothing is certain."

Three hours into their vigil, Pete was up and pacing. A part of him wanted to find a way out but he wasn't going to abandon Artie in order to do it, even if Artie was in no position to know or care what he did. Still, if his boss were to get up from that floor, he wanted to be there when it happened.

"Maybe we _should_ check." Pete finally suggested. "I don't think it's working." He knew patience was a virtue but he had no more left. It had evaporated one or two minutes after the fleece had been put down and no amount of waiting or pacing was restoring it.

Dropping to her knees before the prostrate form, she gingerly lifted up the foot end of the covering. The explosion had not only burned off most of Artie's clothing, it had also blown off both shoes. And what greeted her when she lifted the fleece wasn't a horribly charred foot. It was a normal looking set of toes. New skin was knitting over muscles and bones though it still looked reddened. She lifted a bit higher and found an ankle still in the stages of healing.

Grinning hugely, she met Pete's expectant gaze. She lifted the fleece enough for him to see the nearest foot and stated the obvious with a voice filled with awe. "It's working! Will you look at that?"

"Amazing," he said, equally surprised. "How much longer you think it'll be."

Myka shrugged expansively. "Right now, I don't care. I realize the world can't just stop to let us hang out here, but until I see him whole and moving around, I'm not budging."

"Okay. You're right. As much as I want to get outside, I'll wait it out with you." He dropped down into a cross legged position beside the fleece.

More sitting around and watching the motionless fleece was how they spent the next two hours.

"I gotta see how this is progressing. This is so much worse than waiting for a batch of cookies to come out of the oven!" he said with a trace of humor in his voice.

Myka smiled at that. "Leave him. I'm sure it can't be much longer."

"I'll be old and gray at this rate."

"You're already old and gray." Myka chuckled.

Pete's hand combed through his dark spiked hair. "Am not! That honor goes to Artie."

"How kind of you to notice."

Pete and Myka froze. That pleasant baritone voice didn't belong to either one of them. Myka virtually pounced on the ram's pelt. Her hand came in contact with fingers, whole and warm, gripping the edge of the curling fur. Together they pulled the weighty fleece down to expose Artie's face, intact and smooth skinned. His head bore the same dark curls shot though with strands of gray. There were the same dark bushy eyebrows that was one of his more notable and defining features. Large brown eyes gazed up at her.

"How do I look," he said with a hint of a smile.

"Like yourself. Well, almost. Your hair is like it always is but the goatee is gone. I'm sure you could grow another one in no time."

Everything beside the facial hair was perfectly as it was. Every line, every birth mark, right down to the hole in his left ear lobe which she'd noticed soon after meeting him. Somewhere in the past, he'd sported an earring although she had a hard time picturing him with one now. Nevertheless, it made her ecstatically happy that the fleece appeared to have restored him to the person he'd been before the explosion.

Artie groaned as he tried to sit up. He flinched at the movement, while the pain of his ordeal still rang like a clanging cymbal in the recesses of his mind. Instantly, he let his shoulders drop back onto the cold floor.

Artie knew he appeared to be in one piece but there was one thing the fleece hadn't healed. That was his memory. It kept playing like a time-compressed video. He remembered it all. Running into the umbilicus. Hoping to catch MacPherson before he disappeared. He hadn't known for sure if James had the auto-destruct key as he fled the building. He didn't have time to prepare a suitable defense. He'd been pummeled and kicked and stabbed with an artifact. Head wound bleeding, brain pounding, he'd been slightly out-of-it as he'd punched in the codes and run through that door. How he'd wished he couldn't remember those numbers now and none of this would have happened.

More memories dashed to the forefront of his thoughts. Mrs. Frederic's voice doing the countdown. Five seconds. Five lousy seconds to prepare to meet his maker. He thought about running. Four. He had reached into his pocket for the Phoenix. Three. Wrapped his fingers around it. Two. And completely let go. He couldn't risk hurting anyone, especially Pete and Myka, just to save his own miserable hide. One…

He'd heard the blast, deafening him to any more sound. Felt the searing pain of the flames charging down on him. Melting the clothing on his body, blistering the skin and finally burning it away as the flames encircled him. His eyes, closed, could do nothing but surrender to the scorching winds. Eyelids offered no protection from flames like that. Blind, deaf, passing out from a pain like nothing he'd ever experience before, his last coherent thought was of welcoming the darkness simply because it meant an end to his agony.

"Artie?" a soft voice called. He hadn't known he'd closed his eyes and once opened, he drank in the sight of the beautiful face looking down in concern. How wonderful just to behold such loveliness again.

Laughing lightly, Artie said, "I'd love to get up but I realized that's not in my best interest."

"What do you mean?" Pete asked, confused.

"Let's just say that I'm not…uh…presentable, at the moment."

Myka's eyes swung up in thought, pondering his words, and then her mouth went round. "Oh! OH! I hadn't thought about that. Wait, uh, wait. Do you keep a change of clothes up there?" She pointed upward with a slender index finger. She meant the office and they all knew it.

"Fortunately, yes. And there are some very large bath towels in the bathroom." There had been a shower in the warehouse for…well…forever, Myka decided long ago, designed for emergency use. In all the time she'd worked with Pete and Artie, she'd never known anyone to use it, but was well aware of its location. This time, it was her turn to dash off. Lying on broken shards of plastic, metal plating and concrete couldn't be comfortable and she didn't want him suffering any more than necessary.

Less than three minutes later, she was back with the oversized towel. She handed it to Pete and turned her back to them. Pete assisted Artie in removing the fleece and getting to his feet, whereupon Artie quickly wrapped himself in the towel from armpits to mid thigh.

"Not stylish but it'll suffice," he said, looking down at himself, and wiggling his bare toes. Cautiously, he picked his way around the debris. An occasional hiss of pain escaped his lips as stepped on something small but sharp, and it was with a huge sigh of relief that he began to climb the steps to the office.

Both younger agents stood facing the vast dark channel that was Warehouse 13. They studied the distant shields that MacPherson had activated. When Artie joined them about five minutes later, he looked like his old self only without his customary goatee.

"Ah, much better. Now, onto more important matters. Food. Water. Escape. Contacting Mrs. Frederic."

"I'll get the water and food," Pete volunteered.

The food turned out to be several MRE's heated up in the microwave which still worked. But none of them complained. In fact, it was delicious given how hungry everyone was, especially for Artie who downed two meals quickly. They watched him eat, saying nothing. Eventually he noticed.

"What?"

"You keep packin' it in like that you're gonna be sick," Pete offered.

Shaking his head vigorously, Artie shoveled in another forkful and replied, "I don't know if it's a side effect of using the fleece or not, but I'm starved." He chugged down a bottle of water and twisted off the lid of another one. "Don't worry, I'll be fine." Suddenly he stopped, went a funky shade of green, and bolted off toward the darkened doorway where the umbilicus had joined the wall.

Retching sounds reached their ears. Pete smiled and rolled his eyes, drawing an equal reaction from Myka. "We did warn him," Pete said.

"That we did."

When Artie finally returned, his face wore a pitiful expression but he said nothing more about the incident.

Courteously, neither did the two field agents. "Hey, Artie, any way we can call out?"

"Not from upstairs. The phone lines went down with the umbilicus, as did some of the wiring for power and the internet." He glanced around as if assessing the condition of their surroundings, his fingers stroking chin hairs that were no longer there. His index finger froze in position when he realized what he was doing. This was followed by a small sigh. "Cells won't work down here, but that's stating the obvious. The blast door is still down. No chance of opening it from…" His voice died out gradually. "Why did he put up the shields? There's nothing to be gained by that. Nothing. He had to know they wouldn't hold you too long, not if help arrived quickly."

Myka's soft query broke through his revere. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Turning his head to face her, he replied, "James activated the shields to keep you in." With a vague wave of his right hand, he continued, "Let me think about this. First, McPherson always was overconfident. He planned this well, no doubt about it. He had to have known you'd either get out on your own or Mrs. Frederic would arrive with the cavalry. Second, we know he wanted me dead, sooner or later, and given the circumstances, sooner was preferable. He expects me to be dead right now. But he also knows I'm not easy to kill. Therefore, somewhere in the twisted machinations of his evil mind, he's already planned for how to deal with me if I did survive." He studied the distant wall in confusion. Then he began to pace as if the physical activity would aid him in ordering his jumbled thoughts. "Obviously, this is just a temporary setback for Warehouse personnel. So, was it all…_all_ just a scheme to ensure his escape with the crystalline diamond necklace?"

Artie shook his head and turned to Myka in particular. "I'm sorry. Very little is making sense right now. And there are far too many unanswered questions. Until we get more Intel, we won't get a clear picture of what he wanted. Aside from Warehouse access, I mean."

"So for now, we do exactly the opposite of what he expects. We don't split this place," Pete added. "Instead we wait for reinforcements, protect Warehouse property as if it were the Big Man himself, and let Mrs. Frederic figure out the rest."

Artie nodded slowly. "Sounds like a plan for now." He started moving into the bowels of the building.

"Where are you going?" Myka asked, her brows arched in concern.

"To check the dark vault and make sure everything is where it's supposed to be."

"We'll come with." Pete jogged up to him, and clapped him on the shoulder. "But first let me get the fleece so I can return it to its proper spot.

Wordlessly, Myka waited on him to return with the large heavy bundle in both arms. "This is one artifact I'm glad wasn't stolen," she told Artie with true sincerity. "Without it I wouldn't be talking to you right now.

"Shame on you, Myka. You're slipping."

"What do you mean," she asked innocently.

Artie smirked at her with that wonderful trademark half smile she'd come to cherish. "If the fleece _had_ been taken, the seamless robe of Jesus would have worked just as well. Israel 57 Golgotha." He made several successive tsking noises. "Time to read that manual again."

Myka's mouth dropped open and then snapped shut with an audible click. Instead she just grabbed him by both shoulders and pulled him into a huge bear hug. A few second later, Pete joined in.


End file.
